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He needs a substitute bride…

And she will be his queen!

When desert prince Dal’s convenient bride is stolen, he must find a replacement—immediately. Suddenly shy secretary Poppy is kidnapped by her merciless boss and whisked away to his kingdom. She’s shocked to find herself willingly surrendering to his expert seduction! But when it becomes clear that Dal has more than pleasure in mind, will Poppy be persuaded to accept his royal proposal?

Kidnapped for His Royal Duty

When desert prince Dal’s convenient bride is stolen, he must find a replacement—immediately. Suddenly shy secretary Poppy is kidnapped by her merciless boss and whisked away to his kingdom. She’s shocked to find herself willingly surrendering to his expert seduction! But when it becomes clear that Dal has more than pleasure in mind, will Poppy be persuaded to accept his royal proposal?

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Kidnapped for His Royal Duty

The bride was gone, hauled from the chapel the way a victorious warrior carried the spoils from war.

Poppy’s wide, horrified gaze met Randall Grant’s for a split second before swiftly averting, her stomach plummeting. She’d been trembling ever since the doors flew open and the Sicilian stood framed in the arched doorway like an avenging angel.

But it wasn’t just Sophie she’d helped; she’d helped Randall, too. Not that Randall Grant, the Sixth Earl of Langston, would be grateful at the moment, because he was the groom after all, and no man wanted to be humiliated in front of two hundred of England and Europe’s most distinguished, their guests having traveled far and wide to Winchester for what the tabloids had been calling the wedding of the year, and would have been the wedding of the year, had the bride not just been unceremoniously hauled away by a Sicilian race car driver. Correction, former race car driver.

Poppy doubted that the Earl of Langston would care about the distinction right now, either, not when he had a church full of guests to deal with. Thank goodness he wasn’t a sensitive or emotional man. There would be no tears or signs of distress from him. No, his notorious stiff upper lip would serve him well as he dealt with the fallout.

But she also knew him better than most, and knew that he wasn’t the Ice Man people thought. She shot Randall another swift glance, strikingly handsome and still in his morning suit, the collar fitted against his strong, tan throat, accenting the lean, elegant lines of his physique, and the chiseled features of his face. He looked like stone at the present.

Detached. Granite-hard. Immovable.

Poppy swallowed quickly once more, trying to smash the worry and guilt. One day Sophie would thank her. And Randall, too, not that she would ever tell him her part in the disaster. He wasn’t just Sophie’s groom—jilted groom—but her boss of four years, and her secret crush. Although he was a very good boss as employers went, and rather protective of her, if he thought she had something to do with this wedding debacle, he’d fire her. Without hesitation. And that would break her heart.

But how could she not write to Renzo?

How could she not send the newspaper clipping? Sophie didn’t love Randall. She was marrying him because her family had thought it would be an excellent business deal back before she was even old enough to drive. It wasn’t a marriage as much as a merger, and Sophie deserved better.

So while Poppy’s conscience needled her, she also remembered how Renzo had shown marauder.

It had been thrilling and impressive—

Well, not for Randall. No, he had to be humiliated. But Sophie…Sophie had just been given a chance at love.